


Feyre's Nightmare

by Ohthegodshatehim



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: (I mean really its just the action of vomiting), Angst, F/M, Fluff, No actual description, Vomiting, feysand, ouch that's my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohthegodshatehim/pseuds/Ohthegodshatehim
Summary: So basically it's Feyre's nightmare written from Rhys's POV with a lil' interjection from yours truly. I hope you enjoy!





	Feyre's Nightmare

Her pulsating fear jolted me awake

She threw herself against that damned bond; over and over, sending thundering waves of grief, loss and terror down that link between us.  
I could almost hear her screaming.  
Before I even began to think about it, my feet hit the plush carpet and I was staggering out of my room and into hers. The stench of knee-buckling terror washed over me, and I gripped the walkway for balance as my head spun. She screamed out loud this time and I instinctively threw a shield around her room, horribly similar to the one that bastard trapped her in at the manor.  
She shrieked again, this time tears forming and running down her cheeks.  
She thrashed around and around, like a rabbit in a trap, movements jerky and sharp as she fought against the invisible force rendering her defenceless.  
I began to speak to her- softly, then gradually getting louder and more desperate until I was roaring her name, over and over, like a mantra, trying to do what ever I could to free her from her internal hell.  
She wasn't responding to me, her movements only getting bigger and more violent, and I realised with a start that I could scent the acrid smell of smoke in her room, like something was burning.  
Indeed, glancing rapidly at her, I noticed her hands. They were living embers attached to limbs, slicing through bed linen like they were cauterising a wound.  
If she didn't stop soon, she was going to hurt herself. Badly.  
Without a second thought, I grabbed for her shoulders and began to shake.  
She needed to get out. To be free. To know she was safe.  
She thrashed against me, still caught in that gods-awful hell of her mind. I started to yell her name again;  
"Feyre,"  
" Feyre,"  
"FEYRE".  
The last call jolted her awake. She seemed to have calmed down by hearing me say her name. Interesting.  
She was still shaking.  
I needed to help her.  
"Open your eyes" I ordered.  
Almost immediately, she blinked up at me, and those blue-grey eyes, so sharp and calculating, so devastatingly sad, took me in. Hovering over her, my own eyes wide and breathing coming in harsh pants.  
"It was just a dream." A pathetic excuse for the horrors she'd just endured, but Feyre didn't seem to give a shit at present.  
She lifted her hands to her face and beheld the simmering embers left in the wake of her panic, and the bed linens looking like they'd been shredded for scraps.  
The colour drained from her face, and Feyre shoved me off her with a bony shoulder and stumbled on such thin, weak little legs into the bathing room before collapsing over the toilet and yielding that dinner from so many hours ago over and over again. I was by her side in an instant, scooping up her matted hair off her sweaty neck into my hands.  
Her fingers steamed as they hit the porcelain, and I murmured to her, "Breathe. Imagine them winking out like candles, one by one."  
Completely ignoring what I just said (not that I blame her), Feyre shuddered and heaved once more, a great surge of heat and light cresting out of her on the exhale.  
As the light died down, she looked so, so fragile, so weak and breakable. She truly looked like a doll from a sick, twisted world.  
Tamlin did this to her.  
Amarantha may have broken her neck, but he broke Feyre's soul.  
And he will pay.

Her heaving brought me back, and I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, anything to distract her from the present.  
"I have this dream," I said, still holding her hair in my hands as she retched again and again, "Where it's not me stuck under her, but Cassian or Azriel. And she's pinned their wings to the bed with spikes, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. She's commanded me to watch, and I have no choice but to watch and see how I've failed them."  
She reached up to flush the toilet, watching the water swirl once, twice, before carefully turning towards me and locking eyes.  
"You never failed them." Feyre sounded so, so tired. Defeated  
"I did... horrible things to ensure that." Memories came and went; swift and brutal, like Amarantha herself. Her bed, her court. That gods forsaken throne she prized so much. The piles of dead bodies carted out from under the mountain like common sheep. The knowledge that I was the one behind those massacres.  
I felt like I was going to be sick as well.  
Feyre beat me to it, whipping around back to the toilet just in time for another wave of her dinner to come back up, her body sweaty and shaking.  
At one point, I began to stroke long, soothing lines down her back. To warm her? To calm her? Maybe just to comfort her.  
As her retching died down, she sat back of her heels, looking utterly exhausted. "The flames?" She questioned, grasping for something to fill the deafening silence.  
"Autumn court."  
I thought, for one glimmering moment of hope, that she was going to make a snarky retort, but the moment passed, and she instead slumped against the edge of the tub, seeming to be done talking for the night. She closed her eyes, and within minutes, was fast asleep.  
I untangled my hand from her hair and lifted her as gently as I could into my arms. She was so worryingly light, like a child, a feather in my arms, devastatingly fragile in her moment of retched peace.

Walking slowly, we made our way back into her room, where half a thought from me got fresh sheets made on her bed, and I set her gently on the mattress, tucking the duvet around her, and turned to leave.  
As I began to walk, she made the tiniest noise, like a whimper of sorts. I glanced back at her, and she'd scrunched her eyebrows together, in pain, or perhaps maybe confusion. I don't really know.  
So again, without my brain catching up with my body, I leaned down and placed a feather-light kiss between her brows, causing the crease to dissipate instantly, and her face was relaxed once again.  
I could stare at that calm, unguarded expression for centuries.  
But she needs to figure that out for herself.

So, despite every fibre in my body screaming at me to stay, I walked back to my own room and resided myself to a sleepless night.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hoped you enjoyed this, I wrote it like two years ago and never got round to posting it. It reminded me how much I need to re'read all of Sarah's books again, especially since I just finished KoS. I cri ;-;  
> Anyway! Leave a suggestion of what you want to me re- POV next, and have a great day/night/morning/high noon/evening Xx


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